


The Day After

by everhutcher



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Childhood, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everhutcher/pseuds/everhutcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original written for the farewell week of Prompts in Panem under Alternate Universe Week – What If? A young Katniss finds it in herself to show her gratitude to the boy with the bread. Presented as a series of vignettes throughout the life of Katniss and Peeta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After

**_The Day After… The Bread_   **

“Gosh, do you know what happened to Peeta Mellark?” Madge asked in a harsh whisper.

We were standing at the edge of the schoolyard while the majority of our schoolmates played a game of kickball. Madge, like myself, never quite fit in with most of the kids. We’d found a common bond through that in spite of our wildly different backgrounds. So when recess came, the mayor’s daughter and I would keep one another company, well apart from the rest of our class.

Only today, there was one more student who wasn’t joining in on the fun. The merchant boy who was now the focus of Madge’s attention.

As Madge looked briefly at me from the corner of her eye, still waiting for a response, I shook my head so vehemently that my braids whipped the sides of my face. “H-how-how would I know what happened to him?”

Madge shrugged as she resumed staring at the baker’s son across the yard. “You wouldn’t, I suppose. I just wondered what you thought about it.”

It was my turn to shrug. What could I say? That I’d seen and heard Peeta’s witch of a mother enough times to know the bruise on his cheek was probably just one of many marks? That I’d actually witnessed Mrs. Mellark strike our classmate in the face, shoving him out into the rain to feed the pigs the burned loaves of bread he instead tossed to me?

Suddenly, Madge was tugging at my hand, yanking me forward so hard I almost dropped my books. “What are you doing?” I hissed, trying to pull my fingers from her iron grip. How did such a dainty rich girl get so strong, anyway?

“I’m nosey, Katniss. All good politicians – and their daughters – make it a point to know everything about everyone. Daddy says it helps you serve the people better.”

She was making a beeline for Peeta, with me in tow, digging my toes into the mud as much as possible. My resistance was fairly useless. The drenching rains of the day before – the rains that felt like they would drown me as I sat under the Mellarks’ tree  – had left the ground soft. And so it was that, as we two girls came face to face with Peeta Mellark, I did so with dark muck and mud caked up on the edges of my last pair of decent shoes. Great.

But Peeta wasn’t looking at my shoes. I realized that instead... no, he wasn’t, he couldn’t be... _was_ he looking at _me_?

Smiling at me, even?

“Hi, Peeta,” Madge said cheerfully.

While Peeta said hello back to Madge, he continued to look at me. I was so flustered, my cheeks heating up rapidly, that I almost didn’t notice the faint blush creeping up his neck as well. But there it was. Any doubt I had about him remembering the other day disappeared with that fact. I wondered if he was feeling as awkward about yesterday as I was. I wondered what he thought of me, a weak slip of a girl who had resorted to digging in trash bins. I flushed even redder now, embarrassed by my circumstances, ashamed to exist before this handsome, healthy boy.

“He-hello, Katniss,” Peeta said. _Why wouldn’t he stop looking at me?_

“Hi,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Madge!” The teacher called from the doorway. “I need you back inside to pass out some papers before the rest of the class comes back in.” Our teachers had always asked Madge to be their class helper, presumably to curry favor with the mayor. Sadly, her reputation as teacher’s pet is probably what made her as much of an outcast as I was, with my ragged clothing, empty lunch pail, sick mother and dead father.

Madge groaned. “Coming!” She turned and started for the building. “Peeta –“ she turned around for another moment – “I hope you have a better day!” That was about as close as Madge was going to get to asking about the shiner on his face.

Peeta cleared his throat loudly, and as I stared down at my feet, I could see him twisting and squishing the toe of his right boot in the mud, as if he too were uncomfortable. “Um, thanks, Madge,” he said. “You too.”

Then Madge was gone, but Peeta was not. He stood there, watching me expectantly. After all, I (with Madge) had approached _him._

And after yesterday, it seemed only right to say _something._ But what could I say? Thank you didn’t seem nearly enough. Two small words to represent so much. Did Peeta understand that he held not two loaves of bread, but three lives, my life, in his hands yesterday?

When he gave me that bread, he gave me my life back. How do you put that into words?

I glanced down at my mud-caked shoes, ashamed that I couldn’t bring myself to thank the boy who saved my life, even when face to face with him.

It was Peeta – good, kind, Peeta – who found the words instead. “How are you?”

His voice came out as a whisper, a caress on my wounded soul, as nourishing as the bread I’d carried home in the rain.

I looked up to truly see the face of the boy who was my last hope. And then, I did the only thing I could do, because the words escaped me. I was never good with words, anyway. So instead, I gave him a small smile and held my breath for his reaction.

Amazingly, my timid smile seemed to be enough. Peeta’s mouth erupted into a wide grin, and then just as quickly disappeared when Peeta realized smiling too much was stretching his bruised cheek.

He winced, but then chuckled. The smile was smaller, but the gleam in his blue eyes didn’t fade one iota. How had I never noticed his eyes before? I’d known the baker’s son for years, but I suddenly realized his eyes were almost the same blue as the early spring sky above us, cloudless after the terrible rains of the last several days and weeks.

I couldn’t look away, and then suddenly I couldn’t do anything BUT look away. I glanced once again at my feet, and that’s when I saw it.

A dandelion. As bright as the sun that had finally made its appearance today.

As bright as Peeta Mellark’s smile.

A memory stirred, of dandelion greens in a salad bowl, savory meat alongside it, freshly killed and cooked by my father. Squirrel, or rabbit, maybe. I was too young to know the difference then. But meat, and vegetables, and happiness. No hunger.

I knew what I needed to do. What I could do, to make sure that the gift of bread from Peeta Mellark was not the last shred of hope left in me. I could take that bit of hope and nurture it, grow it, just like the dandelions grow and flourish in the meadow after the rain.

It wouldn’t be easy, but it couldn’t be any harder than clawing through other people’s trash, bearing their derision, and their pity.

I would make sure mom and Prim had the last of the Mellarks’ bread for breakfast tomorrow, but for myself, I would gather what I could in the forest while I hunted.

I would hunt in the morning, and have dinner on the table for my mother and Prim tomorrow evening.

Dinner for mom. For Prim. For myself. And maybe even enough for –

I swallowed thickly.

“Peeta?”

* * *

  
**_The Day After… The Reaping_**

The humming of the train’s engine had lulled me into a deep but fitful sleep, full of children killing one another. I’d had nightmares before, many of them, mostly about my father’s death in the mines. This was different. It was a dream of what was yet to come rather than what had already transpired. When I finally opened my eyes, I hoped the sight before me was another nightmare, that everything I remembered happening yesterday was actually just in my head. But as I reached across the sheet and pressed my fingertips against the strong shoulder of the boy next to me, I realized the nightmare was all too real.

 _No_ , I repeated in my head as I had the morning before. _Not him._ A cold dread swept through my body once more.

As if the moment couldn’t get any worse, Peeta Mellark had been reaped moments after I volunteered to take Prim’s place. We were headed to the Capitol together, where we’d be expected to kill one another in the arena, on live television. When he joined me on stage, Peeta was trembling with fear. But he took my hand and squeezed it tightly, sending warm assurances up my arm and into the depths of my heart.

How would I ever be able to kill the boy who saved my life?

I lay beside him, watching the expansion of his broad shoulder blades with every quiet breath. Peeta seemed so at peace now, as if he’d cried out all his anguish yesterday. I was always the one who held things back, and now I felt like I was drowning in my own unshed tears. I wouldn’t allow myself to cry, but instead I huffed with frustration. How had it come to this? He’d hardly even known me then,  risking his mother’s wrath to give me those two loaves of bread when I was on death’s door. If only Mrs. Mellark was the worst danger in Peeta’s life now. I’d give almost anything for that to be the case. At least I could protect him from the sting of her hand or the weight of her rolling pin.

Instead, I was about to become Peeta’s biggest enemy. The alternative was to risk leaving Prim essentially alone in the world.

Perhaps if he’d remained a virtual stranger, the consequences of the Reaping would have been easier to endure. I could have steeled myself against the inevitability of the task ahead, convinced myself that the baker’s son was my foe and do what I needed to do to make my way back to my sister.

My final conversation with Gale hung heavily in my mind.

“Katniss, it’s just hunting. You’re the best hunter I know.”

“It’s not just hunting. They’re armed. They think.”

“So do you. And you’ve had more practice. Real practice. You know how to kill.”

“Not people.”

“How different can it be, really?”

But Peeta was different. Peeta was so much more than that.

Since the day Madge dragged me across the schoolyard and I found myself shyly inviting the youngest Mellark to dinner at our tiny ramshackle house, Peeta and I had maintained something resembling a friendship. I was from the Seam and he was a Merchant with a mother who looked down upon the miners’ families, so our interactions were never quite free and open. Too many people had too many opinions about a poor Seam girl attaching herself to the son of a relatively well-off town family.

But we found our own small ways to keep that small ember of friendship warm and glowing.

Occasionally, I’d emerge onto the front porch on my way to school and find a small white paper bag from the bakery on the porch, still warm.

Sometimes, Peeta would arrive at his school desk, bleary-eyed from an already long morning at the bakery, and discover a small pail of wild strawberries that grew outside the district fence.

And every spring, when the snow finally melted, we’d leave one another dandelions.

I couldn’t even remember who did it first, but my heart still swelled at what dandelions meant to me. What Peeta had come to mean to me. It’s why, when we left the dining car and headed down the hall to our respective sleeping compartments late last night that I hesitated by my door. Unlike the moment of the Reaping, this time it was my hand that reached for Peeta’s, squeezing it much more tentatively than his hold had been. Peeta looked down at our fingers quizzically, then raised his blue eyes to meet mine. I was drowning in a tidal pool of emotion, and I knew I couldn’t hide the anguish in my eyes. I could never pretend very well. I couldn’t possibly think of Peeta romantically for a myriad of reasons but I needed him to know that he mattered to me. I needed him to see that he was important, and honestly I don’t think anyone else ever really had shown him that except for perhaps his father.

I finally found the courage to say what my eyes were pleading. “Stay with me?”

I couldn’t look at him anymore after that. I was too scared of his response. Of his rejection. Or of his acquiescence. Both were equally terrifying in their uncertainty. Either way, asking this of Peeta would shift something between us. Maybe even as much as the bread had, that day in the rain.

I felt Peeta’s free hand come up under my chin and gently, he nudged it until I brought my eyes up to meet his again. Peeta swallowed hard, sadness in his eyes to match mine, and nodded.

Neither of us said another word as we toed off our shoes and socks and climbed under the covers. We lay on our backs, side by side, for a few stilted moments before Peeta’s hand found mine again under the duvet. We fell asleep that way, barely touching but as strongly connected as we’d been the day he saved me.

All I’d wanted was to show Peeta I still cared. In the quiet haze of early morning, I now realized what a mistake that might have been. Because if I had any shot at going home to my sister, it would mean Peeta’s death. Tomorrow, I’d be in the Capitol. I’d begin training. I’d start to treat Peeta like just another tribute. I had to do it. I had to survive. He’d understand. He knew how hard I’d fought to come this far.

Only today, just for a little while, maybe he could still be my friend.

I allowed herself the luxury of a single tear as I thought of how much the Games had already cost me. I thought of how much I still had yet to lose. I thought of how _lost I would be_  even if by some miracle I won the 74th Hunger Games. I pictured the only other Victor from District 12, that old drunk Haymitch, and wondered what he’d had to lose to ensure his triumph. I wondered if I would end up like him.

As the tear rolled across my cheek, I loudly sniffled away the others which threatened to follow. The sound stirred something in the boy beside me, who rolled over with a quiet moan. His blond locks were slightly damp from spending too long under the warm covers, and curled around his neck. I wanted to tangle my fingers in them.

Peeta opened his eyes and, realizing I was watching him, smiled sleepily at me.

“Katniss?”

* * *

 

**_The Day After… Growing Back Together_ **

I stared at Peeta across the kitchen table.

_“You love me. Real or not real?”_

Peeta’s question from the night before echoed in my head as I watched him sip his tea, the words bouncing around in my brain like a frenzied dance. Even though I’d answered him with total clarity, I had a hard time believing he’d actually asked me that question. That he _wanted_ to know the answer. Because it meant that Peeta, _my Peeta_ , battered, bruised and burned, had really found his way back to me. Last night he wanted to know if I loved him. He believed I could, or else he wouldn’t have asked.

“Didn’t you already know my answer?” I blurted out.

Peeta looked up from his mug, his brow furrowed.

“I mean, we always play that game when you’re not sure. But you must have known. Did you know?”

“Katniss, do you think I doubt you?”

I dropped my hands from the table into my lap, wringing the edge of my blouse between my fingertips. “No - no, not really. I mean, maybe. I don’t know. It’s just I thought that what happened, what we did --” Realization seems to have dawned in his eyes. “I’ve always told you I’m better with actions than words.”

Peeta nodded. “I know.” The burning gaze with which he watched me was startling. The right corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile and suddenly, I realized it. He knew. On some level, at least. Maybe it was just his subconscious, his gut, telling him so. He’d probably known longer than I had. He also knew I wouldn’t, couldn’t, say the words until I’d shown him how much he meant to me in my own way. But I realized he’d needed me to tell him in his way, too.

I smiled shyly at Peeta, nodding in affirmation of this realization. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“You know, I knew the moment you first smiled at me that you could love me.”

“What?” I sputtered. This was something hadn’t expected.

“You know I remembered about the bread, long before I remembered what was real and what wasn’t? I remembered that smile in the schoolyard, too, when Madge ditched you.”

I grinned. “But that was such a small thing.”

“It was everything to me, then. Not even my own mother --” his voice cracked slightly -- “could show even the slightest bit of love to me. Your smile made me think I could be loved.”

My mouth dropped open a bit. “Peeta --” I breathed. But I didn’t know what else to say.

Silence settled upon us again, but there was a tension in the air that wasn’t there a moment earlier. I found it incredibly tough to look at him in that moment. The way his stare was burning into me was unnerving. How could that be possible, though? He had seen every inch of my body during the night, touched places he couldn’t see - figuratively and literally - and kissed every scar and mark of war he could find. I’d exposed myself to him in every way a woman could, except now I felt like a shy little girl.

When curiosity made me brave enough to steal a glance across the table again, the intensity with which Peeta was looking at me took my breath away. I don’t think I’d seen anything quite like it before, except when he’d been hijacked. However, there was no anger in this look, none of the blackness in the depths of his eyes which was a sign the venom had taken over once again. Peeta’s eyes had darkened, but it was the same deep blue that I stared into during the night as he slowly, haltingly, undressed me; as he lowered me to the bed and tentatively explored my body.

That same darkness was there, but the hesitation had all but dissolved away. What was left was a look of confidence.  Determination, even?

I didn’t get another moment to think about what it meant before he was on his feet, pulling me out of my chair to press my body against his.

I slid my hands up and tangled my fingers in the hair that curled around his neck as he wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me onto my tiptoes so that my body was stretched against his. I inhaled sharply, the solid evidence of Peeta’s arousal pressing between my thighs. Involuntarily almost, I thrust my hips against his, making us both gasp in surprise and pleasure.

Peeta’s arms tightened around me as he pressed his forehead gently against mine. “Katniss, I want to show you what you mean to me, just like you did last night,” he murmured. “Will you let me love you?” I nodded and swallowed heavily, once again unable to tell Peeta what emotions he was stirring in me. His hands reached down, sliding under my buttocks to grasp my thighs and lift me, so that I instinctively lifted my legs and hoisted them around his hips. Wrapped around him, I let Peeta carry me from the kitchen and into the living room.

He gently laid me down on the soft rug in front of the fireplace and covered me with his body, propping himself up on his elbows as he began to plant soft, wet kisses along my jawline and down my neck. I writhed and bucked my hips against him as he found a particularly sensitive spot just below my ear, which he began to suck on. I moaned at his relentless mouth, running my hands up and down his back, knowing that Peeta was leaving his mark on me. Unlike my burns and scars, this is a mark I would welcome, one that would remind me that Peeta and I belonged to one another.

I continued to grind my hips against Peeta as he moved his attention down to the shallow valley between my breasts, unbuttoning my nightgown inch by inch, flattening his tongue as he licked and kissed his way across my torso, pausing to pull each of my nipples into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. I groaned his name as he ran his teeth gently across one hard bud, then the other, and he smiled as he looked up at me, knowing the mix of pain and pleasure was turning me on. As if to confirm it, Peeta snaked one long, thick finger up my nightshirt and beneath the band of my underwear, finding my core slick and so, so ready for him. In spite of the inevitable soreness our first time together had brought me, I felt none of that discomfort now; the only ache I had was to feel my hunger satisfied. I swiveled my hips against his finger, trying to get it to press against my needy bundle of nerves, and Peeta growled with approval.

I reached up and unbuttoned the rest of my nightshirt as Peeta reached up and grasped the edges of my panties. Raising his eyebrows questioningly, I nodded my assent and watched him slide my underwear down my legs, then toss them over his shoulder. I giggled, and Peeta grinned at me before his eyes settled on the sight before him.

In the dark of night, with only the moonlight illuminating the room, Peeta and I had relied on feeling as much as seeing one another as we made love. This morning, in the stark light of day, there was no way to hide. I was exposed to Peeta in every way imaginable at this moment -- more so because I realized he was still fully clothed -- and he would see me for who I truly was. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if Peeta would be able to stand the sight of my scarred body. But the moment passed when I saw tears well in his eyes and he bit his lip.

Afraid to break the spell, I whispered, “Are you all right?”

Peeta nodded, and just as quietly, replied, “You saved me. I love you.” My heart leapt into my throat and swelled, threatening to burst out of me.

Peeta’s hands settled on my knees and oh, so gently spread them apart to look down at the source of my desire. He laid on his stomach between my legs and kissed his way from my right knee up the inside of my thigh, then started at the top of the other thigh and worked his way down. He avoided the juncture between my legs and I wriggled and squirmed, filled with that hunger again, waiting, wanting _something_. I now knew what that something was, and I craved to have that hunger satisfied. I don’t know how I survived without it before now.

And then the wet heat of his mouth was on me _there_ and everything was shooting stars and fireworks. The pressure built between my legs until I felt like I would burst, and then I did, and I flew, up, up, up, higher than any mockingjay could ever go.

If actions speak louder than words, then Peeta was screaming he loved me.

When I came down from the dizzying heights of my climax, Peeta grabbed a blanket off the sofa, and gathered me into his arms. For a few moments I lay in the warm cocoon of Peeta’s arms and the blanket, but my exertions had left me overheated, and pretty soon I was casting the blanket aside. I slid one leg over Peeta’s hips and straddled him. Now that he had showed me, I was eager to show him again how much _I_ loved _him._ I untied the drawstring of his sweatpants and slid them over his slim hips, seeing in all its glory just how much he wanted me. “Peeta,” I breathed in awe.

“Katniss,” he replied breathlessly.

“Peeta,” I repeated, a little dumbfounded at the sight before me.

“Kat --”

The front door slammed against the wall as it was flung open.

“HAYMITCH!”

 

* * *

**_The Day After… The First Night_ **

 “Mommy! I’m hunnnngrrryyyyy!”

No chime of a clock was needed to wake me when I had the wail of a five-year old to do it instead. I shoved my head under my pillow and yanked it over my ears. “Go ask your dad!” I shouted through the thick down stuffing.

I had never exactly been a morning person, in spite of weekly hunts before the sun rose. That was different, as I always argued (and rightfully so) whenever my husband teased me about it. There _was_ a big difference. When I hunted, I didn’t have to actually _talk_ to people. It was a bonus to be quiet in the woods while searching for game in the morning.

Not that I was a good talker any other time of day, either. That had always been his gift.

And it was his voice which I now heard from the doorway. The sound of heavy, uneven steps followed, and as I pulled the pillow off my head again, I saw my husband was carrying in a tray laden with coffee, eggs, fresh fruit, and --

“Cheesebuns?” That had me fully awake. My mouth was watering at the sight as I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. He chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully setting the tray between us.

“Would you expect anything less?”

“Mmmmmm, I expect nothing, Peeta. But I can always hope,” I replied as I tore open one of the buns, the hot steam wafting up into my face, and inhaled deeply.

“I try my best.” Peeta swung his legs up onto the bed and settled in against the headboard, leaning over to grab a bun for himself. His eyes met mine and he smiled. “We ate cheesebuns in bed before the Quarter Quell. Real or not real?”

I paused with the bun halfway to my lips and I know Peeta must’ve seen the mild alarm in my eyes. It had been ages since we’d played the old game that helped Peeta recover his hijacked memories. We were so lucky that over time Peeta’s real memories had solidified in his mind and the “shiny” moments were few and far between. For once, it seemed the odds were  in our favor; I hadn’t seen Peeta need to will away the hallucinations in more than a year, and even then, he hadn’t had a real attack since just before Willow was born. It was as if having our daughter gave Peeta a stronger reason than ever to fight for his soundness of mind. He’d used his love for me to fight his way back; but his love for his child was what finally brought him over the finish line.

Looking at him now, I could see that he wasn’t experiencing a hallucination as much as a need to double-check what he already knew. I set the cheesebun down, took his hand and squeezed it in reassurance. The warmth that seeped from his palm into mine had never faded, in spite of what Snow tried to do to him. Peeta’s warmth had always gotten to me. The warmth of his hands, his arms, his heart. As warm as the bread that once saved my life. Bread that had also come from him.

I reached up with my free hand to brush a crumb away from the left corner of Peeta’s mouth. He caught my hand and turned his head to press his lips against my knuckles. Always the romantic.

“So?” he prodded. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I confirmed. “I hurt my ankle trying to scale a tree to get over the district fence, and you brought them to me every day while I recovered. That’s how you figured out they were my favorite.”

“Mommyyyyyy!”

“Speaking of favorites,” I grinned even as I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance, “if it isn’t our favorite son. In here, peanut.” Rye padded into the room in slippered feet and Peeta pulled him up onto the bed to join us as I broke off a piece of cheesebun for him. He was the spitting image of Peeta at that age, according to both my husband and Delly, who was our boy’s favorite unofficial aunt. Virtually the only signs he was my son were a pair of steel gray eyes.  And, his habit of scowling when he didn’t get his way, which happened quite often as the younger brother of an equally strong-willed older sibling. Rye was followed into the room by Willow, our wiry ten-year old.  She was the perfect combination of the two of us. She had the dark hair of the Everdeens and the bright blue eyes of the Mellarks.

But beyond physical attributes, she was also a blend of what made the two of us love one another so fiercely after all this time. She had my fire, tempered by Peeta’s wisdom. She was an old soul, a fitting product of two Victors who’d had to grow up far too fast.

Willow clambered onto the end of the bed, stretching out on her stomach at our feet, as she reached for a bun. A happy silence settled on the room for a moment, then was abruptly brought to a halt by a piercing wail.

Peeta gently tugged on the end of my braid as he stood up. “I’ll do it. You need your rest.”

I chuckled. “Funny, I don’t remember you saying that at 2:30 last night. You slept like a log while Annie helped out!” I called after him as he retreated from the room. A moment later, Peeta was back with a small pink bundle in his arms.

“Hey, I needed to catch up on my beauty sleep. I got very tired pacing the floor the last two nights, waiting for this little lady to arrive.” Peeta settled onto the mattress again and his voice dropped to almost a hushed whisper at the end of his sentence. He leaned his face toward the newest addition to the Mellark clan as Rye crawled across to get a better look too.

“Where is Annie?” I wondered.

“When I got up, I kicked her off our couch and sent her to a proper bed in your old house. She deserves the break.”

I nodded in agreement. “I’m so sorry we scared you,” I replied, my voice heavy with regret. And I didn’t mean myself and Annie.

The birth of our first two children had been so easy that we didn’t expect the new baby to be any different. But this girl clearly took after her father’s broad frame, and was so large that the new doctor in District 12 thought he might have to perform a C-section. Luckily it hadn’t come to that, though I pushed for hours. When she finally came into the world late last night, I was exhausted, and wondered how I’d find it in me to wake up every couple of hours to nurse her.  With the help of Annie, a mother who had known as many challenges as I had through the years, somehow I pushed through that too. I was lucky to have had her advice and camaraderie since I first became pregnant with Willow. She had always encouraged me to embrace motherhood, no matter the risk. I suppose those years of struggling to survive had made both of us fighters. As they had Peeta. And, I hoped, we’d pass on that fighting spirit to our little ones.

I scooted over and leaned into Peeta as his right arm came around me protectively, his left still cradling our newborn. Funny, as much trouble as she’d caused, our baby looked incredibly small and fragile against her father’s muscular arm.

But I knew Peeta’s arms were the safest place in the world for our children. As they had been for me since we were teenagers. “It’s all going to be okay now,” Peeta said, as Rye snuggled his way between us, careful to not jostle the baby, while Willow tucked herself into my other side. “We have each other.” He kissed the top of my head and let his lips rest against my hair as he spoke again. “You know what we don’t have, though?”

“More cheesebuns?” I said as my eyes started to drift closed again.

I could feel Peeta’s breath as he snorted softly into my hair. “Always thinking about your stomach, aren’t you, Everdeen? But no, I meant we need to settle on a name for this little angel.”

“Settled.”

Peeta’s eyes widened as he suppressed a smile. “That easy, huh?”

“Yep.”

“So, what are we calling our new daughter?”

Our family was complete now, so it was only right for the youngest member of our family to be named for the girl who, without ever realizing what she was doing, started it. I smiled at our sweet baby; tears welled up as I said hello to --

“Madge.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are welcome! Characters are, of course, property of Suzanne Collins. 
> 
> I am new to the writing side of the fandom, so I'll be posting a few things I've recently written, and I hope to write more in the future! You can find me over on Tumblr as everhutcher as well.


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